What Will Tomorrow Bring?
Golden hour was upon the land. Already, the sky had turned into a vibrant hue of orange that spelled the beginning of dusk. This served her well. Her youngest was playing in the shallow end of the river with the other children. She had always warned Kira to keep to the shallow end, nearer to the bank.
Her fear was not without foundation.
Learning To Say Goodbye
I've learned to leave him in dark places, In feelings I cannot put into words without spilling my heart's content, in dusty shelves that reek abandonment and broken vases that wither flowers, I've learned to stitch his name into nothingness…
October, 2020
The waves continue, anger, sadness, anger
Momentarily imperceptible but lingering stabs of pain
It hurts all over, under, inside, around
We bend so far our backs almost break
We negotiate with pain till it’s all too much to bear
We raise our heads just a little but even that is too much
The wickedness of the wicked seeks to suppress
Cutting off raised heads, reminding us of “our place”
BUT we have a voice, we’ve heard it, the loud rumble of unity…
14 Days At The Toll Gate
We all watched in awe; the silence of the Commander-In-Chief echoed through our television sets as he adeptly failed to address the humongous elephant standing in the center of the room. It felt as though the cumulative incidences we witnessed and experienced were just figments of our imagination.
Still Her Weapon
They refused to lie in the soothing arms
of early morning’s sleep. They balanced their overweight bodies
on their grounded feet and walked to the kitchen like shrewd kids on a mission;
working in a tango to make peanut butter sandwiches
and warm up water for me…
Shape Shifting
Yesterday, it was well... simple, straightforward, well fenced
Today, spillovers everywhere, untamed
Love, shape-shifting, evolving, dynamic
In today, out tomorrow... but not so much
Love lingers, it's flavour coating the taste buds like pepper soup
Loving dribbles down the fingers like juice from the bone marrows of
chicken…
How We First Made Love
The first boy
That ever placed his hands on my body,
held my mind down, so carefully
Like a skin carpet beaten too finely
You can't push a needle through
I was nine…
Now That I Live
Speak of my goodness now that I live,
Tell of my good name now that I can perceive.
It should not be that on my last bed,
You will wash my name with spittle full of glory
So futile that my rag will not smile at your story…
